Heart on your Sleeve
by StupidUsername10101
Summary: Epsi10n's story Hermione Granger and the Serpent's Renaissance is still far too under-appreciated. To show the extent of my love for good writing, have a fanfic of a fanfic. One-shot based on year 2: chapter 12.


**For a while now, I've been reading Epsi10n's _Hermione Granger and the Serpent's Renaissance_. The story is brilliant, the writing flawless, and the characterisation spot-on. To show my appreciation for an author far better than myself, I've decided to write this little piece. Lady luck has been given a liberal dosage of madness to Sal's adventures, but what would happen if, through a rather unlucky occurance, people began to notice more of our favourite snake's peculiarities? Essentially, I found opportunities to delve into such an interesting character and couldn't simply walk on by (I got bored and it's late, okay?). This most likely will make no sense if you've never read the aforementioned story, so check it out!**

**Comment whatever you want, just have a nice day.**

* * *

Year 2 : Chapter 12 - Hospital Wing

Hermione awoke to a throbbing headache - as well as quite a few queries, mostly about why she was in pain after presumably having more than the black lake's water content of potions shoved down her throat. After muddling through her thoughts, all the while impaired by various aches and pains, she eventually deduced that the potion effects wore off too quickly, but asking for any more would arouse suspicion.

You see, innate magic works as a healing factor in both magical people and animals (and the various species across the spectrum of sentience). The more magic one has fizzing inside of themselves without an output, the more it will try to expend itself, which is what causes outbursts in wizarding children. Magic can aid in the detoxifying of the body, like a second immune system for the supernatural, or help in the healing of whatever stab wounds Godric managed to acquire chasing after... various things. Who would have guessed that assassins generally don't enjoy being outed as assassins in front of their target?

Anyways, the most important thing to note is that Salazar's magic was maturing much quicker this time around (better diet, perhaps, or less disease due to hygiene. Definitely something to do with the rigorous training since her memories returned). Greater magic reserves than your average second year meant that doses meant for one her age would wear off far too soon, which was a shame as this would have been a time to catch up on missed sleep undisturbed. Lockhart could wait.

Hermione sighed in defeat, wincing at the protest from her ribs. She was clearly not going to get anymore sleep so spending this time productively would be the way to go. When tired, Sal had a tendency to make rash decisions, which had led to a few explosions in her private labs after three days sans sleep. Duelling was a no-go, her books were in the dorms, but her wand was laid on the nightstand (a terrible habit of the modern wizards, as stealing it would be so easy! It's not hard to at least put it in a drawer.) The nocturne, however, was a viable option to satisfy her boredom. Picking up her vine wand gently, absentmindedly running a hand over the intricate carvings, courtesy of Ollivanders' ever improving craftsmanship, Hermione swiftly cast some silencing charms (forgetting to anchor them in her less than ideal state) and began to play her house's signature piece. Perhaps she could add a little light show to entertain herself, as the charms would keep everything hidden.

Hopefully nobody would come by. Though they would certainly get a treat (and a shock).

* * *

As Draco slipped out of the mass of Slytherins heading towards the common room, he debated whether or not this was a stupid idea. A feeble apology was such a pathetic idea, worthy of the mudbl- muggleborns. He frowned internally. He supposed that times where changing, and as such so should he - but it's difficult to let go of what you've known your entire life. The purebloods just seemed so much_ better. _Though Sally did have scores better than most of better descent, and she could make connections (a vital skill for any who wanted to get far), and she was so polite, and-

Draco stopped in his tracks. Was that the nocturne?

Indeed, a trickle of music bled through what seemed to a faulty silencing charm stuck to the Hospital Wind door- of course it hadn't worked, magic of that calibre took your entire focus! Speaking of which, he still had to find out who is was that could play. Having been taught music since he could talk, like all pure-blooded children were, he soon recalled Zabini and Nott looking through a sheet that looked awfully similar to what he was hearing now - and he recognised it as his house's theme. Obviously, it wasn't his dorm mates , since the boys' room had been filled with the fruits of their labour for weeks now and this was the kind of beauty only produced by the masters of their craft. No child could do this. Few adults would, either, because the nocturne was barely played anymore. Draco's father wasn't anywhere near this good!

Safe in the knowledge that magical buildings don't typically have creaky doors, he cracked open up one of the grand oak doors to peer into the gloom. Draco gasped softly in awe of the display.

The world was awash with life. Sparks and swirls of emerald clarinet danced about the sky, interlocking with smooth strokes of French horn to sweep across a sea of silver that crashed like drums. The glowing mists formed an ever-changing forest that dipped to brush the floor and leapt overhead to dart past excited flares of magic that popped like fireworks in time with the energetic flutes. Strings of light weaved in synchronisation with the violins, launching up higher and higher, louder and louder before being buried underneath the waves of shimmering cello. From all around, the sky clicked and chirped with crackling bursts of percussion. Bellowing from a place down below, the double bass brought the symphony together by deepening the flickering shadows while the twinkling starlight of the harp set the void glistening with untold depth.

A story was told in the song. A story of finding a place in the world, a story of unity and of pride to be who you are. A story of a man who gave all he had for the future generations to discover. A story of hope.

And orchestrating it from behind, pulling the marionette strings, was Hermione Granger.

* * *

Once the performance had ceased, the only sound ringing out in the night was heavy breathing from an exhausted Hermione. Draco watched, perplexed, as the girl (is that all she is? Just another child?) dismantled the web of half-useless protective enchantments, cast a few successful ones over herself, and dropped off to sleep.

The door had opened wider and wider during the song as the boy stepped into the room so Draco hastily sealed it shut before scurrying down the corridor. Little did he know that a certain Potions Professor had come to deliver supplies and was watching from an alcove near the ceiling, also enthralled by the display (though he would most certainly deny ever doing so).

It seems that no matter how hard one tries to lock their heart up in a tower, someone will find a way to peek inside to see what is hidden.


End file.
